


What Matters Most

by Yula (ToasterTacoWriter)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, REALLY short story, Short, Short Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterTacoWriter/pseuds/Yula
Summary: About a young parent with some issues.





	What Matters Most

I knew he wouldn’t make it. I saw the look in his eyes, and I just knew. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand one last time, to feel his pulse before he breathed his last. Instead, I gripped the fabric of my jacket, balled my fists, and nodded my head. He turned away, I caught a glimpse of his dirt-covered boots. The door slams shut.

Now, I am alone. My baby crying every single night. I wear my headphones, full blast music on my ears. I can’t bear to look at him. 

He has his face. 

My neighbors charge at me each morning. They threaten to call Child Protective Services. I look them dead in the eye,  
“Mind your own fucking business.” A week later, my landlord raps at my door. She’s a sweet old lady, half-blind but strong. She invites me for a walk into town. “My bones ain’t what they used to be” she says, eyes smiling. I can’t seem to say no.

We stroll around the stone cobbled path, across the rickety bridge. She talks of life before the renegades took over. How everything was peaceful and chaotic in a different way. She looks off into the distance, staring at the scraps of metal and flowery vines rusting along our way, “Life was pleasant enough, but people are complicated…everything and anything but not enough.” She chuckles to herself, kicks a pebble into the gutter, there’s a twinkle in her eye as she looks at me, “We always seem to forget what matters most.”

For the first time, I look at him. This tiny infant; cheeks red, tears spilling, grimy hands reaching out. I touch the palm of his hand with my index finger, his little hand wraps around it. The cries turn to soft gurgles. His wide puffy eyes look at me, and I remember what Isaac said with those same amber eyes. “We’ll be a family.” I feel my lungs burning, choking sobs stuck in my throat. My arms shiver as I hold our child. He coos, wraps his tender arms around my neck. 

“How could you love me? How could you still love me?”

 

Years have gone by, I look at myself in front a large vanity mirror. Crows feet at the edge of my eyes, laugh lines more prominent. I open my porcelain jewelry box, gazing at the small rose-gold pendant from my old landlord, Mrs. Ramirez. ‘Bless her soul.’ I wrap it around my neck, clasp it expertly. Smoothening my white blouse, I rise from my seat, check my watch. 

“Jesse M. Washington.” 

My son walks across the stage, shakes hands with the University’s president as he accepts his diploma. He runs down the stairs, almost trips, looks up and smiles brightly. My heart swells as my gaze turns toward the clear blue sky.

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching a show and there was this scene that hurt my heart. I felt so bad for the character, then I thought of the first two sentences in this story.  
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> I would greatly appreciate your critiques about my work! #WriterInProgress
> 
> (Much love yeah :D)


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